


From Russia With Love

by Senna_Frost



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confused Castiel, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Depressed Dean Winchester, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Grumpy Castiel, Grumpy Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, Language Barrier, M/M, Mail Order Brides, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Meddling Sam Winchester, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Omega Castiel, Omega Castiel/Alpha Dean Winchester, Russian Castiel, Shy Castiel, Strangers to Lovers, True Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 22:45:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15850947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senna_Frost/pseuds/Senna_Frost
Summary: Fuzzily, at the back of his mind, there was a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sammy, yammering on about how this was a bad idea. It was the equivalent of going grocery shopping when you were stoned off your gourd or late night binge ordering on Amazon or the Home Shopping Network. (Maybe he did need a knife that could cut a penny!)Shit. What had he bought last night for...fucking five thousand dollars?! Oh, son of a bitch! Thank god he had relatively good credit and a high limit, even though right now was a very bad time to be racking up credit card bills.His jaw dropped when he read the words, “Your Russian Mail-Order Bride will arrive in 3-5 business days!”There was no way it was a real person, it had to be a scam or an extremely expensive blow-up doll, right?! There were those life-size RealDolls that came in every flavor and color of the rainbow, which people paid thousands of dollars for. That had to be what this was.





	From Russia With Love

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say here, I was just really in the mood for some sad, grumpy Alpha Dean and some confused, sweet Russian Omega Cas having a weird meet cute and falling in love. Prepare for light angst, lots of fluff and smut. Enjoy! <3

Dean sighed wearily, taking another sip of whiskey. Just another lonely, sleepless night. The television played quietly in the background, some infomercial for yet another supposedly revolutionary product that promised to change your life but would later on turn out to be crap. If that wasn't the perfect metaphor for Dean's life, then he didn't know what was.

Dean's life seemed to be on an endless, cycling loop of shit lately. Every day he woke up, (if he had even slept during the night at all) despair and sadness clinging to him like a second skin, permeating the air around him with the smell of depressed, grieving alpha.

 

It could have been worse, Lisa could have died. That might have actually been easier. Instead she had met her true-mate in amongst one of the hot yoga classes she taught at the college every week and that was that. Some wealthy, alpha doctor, Matt-somebody or other, who had been recommended the class after a back injury and then proceeded to sweep Lisa off her feet with his “perfect scent.”

 

In a whirlwind that made Dean's head spin, she had packed up hers and Ben's things and was gone. Oh, she had apologized and explained and rationalized, but in the end, the heart wants what the heart wants, and in this case, Dean was unwanted. She'd thanked him tearfully for being so _understanding_ , (really, he was just too shell-shocked to form a response) hugged him goodbye and was gone.

 

That had been bad.

 

But what had really splintered Dean's heart into a million jagged pieces, was Ben, little Ben running to him crying, leaping into his arms and locking his legs and arms as tightly around Dean as he could, begging his mother not to take him away, pleading with Dean to _do something_. He'd never forget the sight of that small, pale face staring at him out the back window of Lisa's sage green Subaru, tear-stained and miserable. He'd wanted to fight, to keep Ben with him, but when it came right down to it, Ben was not his and the pup's place was with his mother.

 

And it wasn't as though Dean had gone into the relationship blindly, when they had met, they had both acknowledged that they weren't _it_ for each other, but there _was_ attraction, genuine interest, _potential_ , and, of course, _Ben_. Dean was a sucker for pups, wanted a whole passel of them and had fallen as much in love with Ben as he had with Lisa, loved that pup like he was his own. Dean was a rare alpha to take in and dote on a pup that was not his biologically.

 

The whole situation had fit seamlessly into the ideal Dean had always kept close to his heart since he'd presented as an alpha. Beautiful omega or beta female mate, adorable pup and a nice little house. Hell, they'd even had the goddamned white picket fence. Maybe it wasn't perfect, maybe sometimes he had felt like that intrinsic _spark_ wasn't quite there, but he'd thought they were happy. Or at least, content. So much for the apple pie life.

 

Dean sighed again and took another healthy slug of whiskey. He didn't want to be mad at Lisa, he knew she didn't do this to him on purpose, knew that it was damn hard to fight your biology, but she could have at least put up a little more than token resistance. Dean didn't consider himself a catch or anything, but he was a decent man, in his opinion, a good alpha and provider, had striven to do his best by her and Ben, he told himself he didn't deserve to be left high and dry like this. But then he remembered that pretty much everyone in his life had always ended up leaving him and realized he should have seen this coming. Good things just didn't last for Dean, and there was no one to blame but himself. He never was enough for anyone, was always found lacking somehow.

 

And now...He was so sick of everything. He hated his dead-end, low-wage job and his asshole boss, detested coming home to his cold, empty house that stunk of sad alpha, the scents of Ben and Lisa stale and practically obliterated by his misery now.

 

Lisa used to tell him he smelled like forests of evergreens and warm homemade apple pie mingled with cinnamon whiskey, but she'd never said he smelled like home, which is what Dean's dad had always told him when he was young, mates should smell like whatever _home_ meant to you.

 

Sometimes, underneath the heavy, metallic scent of his own depression, he'd get a whiff of himself, but it was distorted now, corroded, evergreen forests burned and razed to the ground, apple pie moldering and rotted, apples gone fermented and sour, the whiskey oxidized and too mild, the bite of cinnamon gone bitter, all of it overlaid with the cloying scent of saltwater, a sticky film he wished he could scrub his skin clean of.

 

Dean craved that slightly tropical scent of coconuts and citrus which reminded him of long, hot summers at the beach that Lisa had left behind wherever she went. He missed nuzzling into her neck when she got home from work just to catch a whiff of it. And especially, he missed Ben's unpresented pup scent, mixed with the smell of fresh cut grass and clean sweat.

 

Most of all though, he dreaded his bedroom, stripped bare of all the homeyness it had once boasted; the whole house had benefited from Lisa's womanly touch and now, with many of the trinkets and personal touches peeled away, the place was just a barren shell. Dean thought about selling, but he and Lisa had bought the house together, and with one less income now, Dean wasn't in the position to ditch his mortgage and move.

 

Everything just seemed like so much effort now. While deep down ( _very_ deep down) he could quietly admit that he was more depressed than he'd ever been in his life, with the exception of when his parents had died when he and Sam were young, but he didn't know what to _do_ about it. Didn't know how to enact the sea-change that would cause the shift in fortunes, the turning of tides, _whatever_ , to make things better.

 

Dean didn't really have much family around anymore, his parents were gone, Sam was hundreds of miles away at college, having just started a prestigious internship with a top firm in California. The few close friends and sort of adopted family he did have, all were sympathetic to his plight, but told him the same thing: He had dodged a bullet, Lisa leaving was a good thing, now he was free to move on, find his own true-mate, or at least someone better suited to him and all he needed was some time to heal. It was a litany that Dean had grown sick of quickly and resented. He didn't feel he had dodged anything, more like the bullet was actually the shell from a .12 gauge shotgun and had torn into his chest and blown out the other side, leaving a giant, fist-sized hole that whistled and ached when the wind blew through it.

 

He wasn't ready to meet someone new, let alone his _true-mate_ , which before this had all happened he would have said was a bunch of bullshit anyways. Dean agreed he needed time to heal, but the way things were going, he worried that this was a wound that might never close up. Having someone you love, leave you, was _never_ a _good_ thing, in Dean's opinion. It had cut his alpha-ness to the quick, to be rejected so heartlessly in favor of a supposedly better match, just because someone else had smelled more appealing to Lisa than he did. Dean liked to think that _he_ was in control of who he loved, not his biology, nor his alpha hindbrain or his goddamned nose.

 

Sam did call weekly, despite his busy workload, to check in with Dean and make sure he was okay, even offering to take some time off and come stay for a week, but Dean wouldn't hear of it, hated to cause a fuss and didn't think himself worth Sam having to rearrange his schedule and miss work and school just to come up and console his sad-sack big brother. Besides, it was difficult enough to put on a front for Sam over the phone, pretending that he was coping with the whole situation properly and not just with copious amounts of whiskey; if Sam came up here, he'd realize instantly that Dean was falling apart. Not to mention the fact that whenever Sam called, he all but raved about the omega girl he had met, Jess, who was training to be a nurse and smelled amazing and how Sam thought she might be THE ONE.

Everywhere Dean looked, it seemed as though everyone else was pairing off, falling in love, finding their true-mate, getting their happy ending. And in light of his own dismal situation, it didn't cheer him up, but rather made him feel shitty, bitter and resentful. He honestly didn't think he could handle a full week of Sam gushing about his prospective mate and trying to bolster Dean up with his self-help, New-Age, love yourself bullshit.

 

He was _not_ wallowing, thank you very much, Sam. Well...maybe a little.

 

Recently, Sam had started encouraging him to maybe get a roommate or a companion or a pet even, just so he wouldn't be so alone all the time. But Dean had found himself bristling at all these suggestions, he just didn't feel ready, it had only been five months and secretly, he sometimes fantasized that maybe things wouldn't work out for Lisa and that she and Ben would come home to him, where they belonged.

 

Though that fantasy had been smashed to smithereens once more. Earlier today, Dean had broken down, as he did every now and then and dialed Lisa's number. They hadn't talked recently, mainly because he couldn't get ahold of her. She'd been decent enough to deposit her half of the mortgage payment into his account for the last few months, but that had all been online, with no actual contact. And Dean didn't expect her to keep that up forever.

 

He had some half-formed idea that maybe they could work out some kind of visitation schedule where Dean got to see Ben every other weekend or something. God, he missed that kid somethin' fierce. It didn't seem like an unreasonable request to Dean. But the line rang twice before being pushed forward to voicemail. Three times in a row. She obviously had better things to do than talk to him.

 

He'd thought about leaving a message, but couldn't seem to put together any kind of response that didn't involve angry shouting or unmanly sobbing.

 

Or both. Probably both.

 

That had been around 6pm and Dean had told himself he'd only have a couple beers before hitting the hay early, but after his calls were ignored, he traded out the beers for some cheap whiskey and started drinking in earnest. It was Friday night, so why the hell not? Future Dean could deal with the mother of all hangovers that he would no doubt have come Saturday.

 

Fuck it. He didn't need her.

 

Dean snorted at his own foolishness and gulped down the last of the whiskey in his glass before grabbing his laptop and flipping it open. Sam had emailed him a bunch of links for different websites and Dean figured he may as well at least take a gander at them just so he could tell Sam he'd looked but hadn't found anything that interested him.

 

Signing into his G-mail account, he clicked on the first link which took him to a Craig's List ad, as did the next two links, the next couple were for OmegaMatch and BetaBond, which were popular dating websites. Nothing jumped out at Dean though, it was all the same old bullshit, hot, young things looking for a hookup, for a one-night-knotting, which, in his late teens, early 20's, Dean would have been down with, now, however, he found himself longing for permanence, family, security. His inner alpha hungered for a mate and pups to love and protect, to provide for and spoil silly. Yet, at the same time, he was also secretly terrified that any future relationships would just crash and burn as they always did, and he winced at the thought of putting himself out there again.

 

Settling back into the couch, he balanced his laptop on his knees before hooking the neck of the whiskey bottle with two fingers, foregoing the glass completely and chugging straight from the source like a heathen and clicked on the second to last link, which bore a note from Sam that read, “ _Hey jerk, maybe mail-order brides are more your style! Hahaha!_ ;-P.”

 

“Hahaha, very funny Sammy. Little bitch,” Dean mumbled, a mite drunkenly. Sam and his little winky face emojis could just fuck right off. Pshaww! Besides, mail-order brides weren't a thing anymore, were they?

 

At first glance, this site seemed the same as the others, but looking closer he blearily realized it was all in a foreign language. Clicking on the translation link, he now read : “ _ **Omega-Beta-Finder:Russian Brides Online**_ ” in graceful blue glittery script.

 

Huh. That sounded exotic, he'd always had a kink for sexy accents. Dean kept reading.

 

“ _ **Hi! Are you still looking for your perfect mate? Maybe she is just click away!**_ ”

 

Dean snorted again and practically french-kissed the whiskey bottle with his next gulp.

 

“ _ **30,000**_ _**Russian Omegas and Betas are determined to meet 'Western Alphas'. Mate Easy with English Speaking! Make them fall for love with your charm! Ignite your passion here and Go Find YOUR True Love!**_ ”

 

 _Oh, really_. Dean rolled his eyes so hard that it made him dizzy.

 

He scrolled down farther and was met with a parade of some admittedly, damn gorgeous women...Toria, Natasha, Leyla, Marya, Tanya...July? That didn't sound very Russian, but who was he to judge?

 

In particular, there was a stunning, willowy redhead with pale, alabaster skin and clear blue-green eyes named Anael, wearing thin strips of strategically placed cobalt blue fabric that Dean guessed was supposed to pass as a bathing suit that drew his gaze.

 

Whelppp. That was about as opposite from Lisa as he could get.

 

“ _ **Care for the Omegas and Betas. There are a many lonely Omegas and Betas on this site just looking for good, strong Alphas to fulfill their loneliness. Want to know how to acquaintance them quickly?**_ ”

 

 _Well, fuck. I'm lonely too_. Dean cracked a half-hearted smile at the stilted English, imagining thick, Russian accents in sweet, sexy voices as he read further on to the “ _ **Tips**_.”

 

“ _ **Tip 1: These omegas and betas are open-minded and will take first step. Let them feel they are admired.**_ ”

 

“ _ **Tip 2: Be respectful when rejecting. Many omegas and betas will message you, but you won't have time for all of them.**_ ”

 

“ _ **Tip 3: Don't be afraid to try something new, you never know who you might meet here and how they might change your life for the best!**_ ”

 

Dean stared dazedly at the hot pink, blinking link, “ _ **Easy Sign Up, Try Now! What is to lose? Meet Your Mate now!**_ ”

 

What the hell. Why not? It couldn't hurt to just look.

 

Dean clicked on the link.

 

Dean didn't remember much from there, it was a colorful blur as he drunkenly perused all the available omegas and betas. That same redheaded omega kept catching his eye and he found himself mindlessly clicking and typing responses, filling out personality questionnaires, then he was being prompted to enter his information and fuck, he forgot he had AutoFill on here as it supplied all his credit card info without his help.

 

He wasn't exactly sure what he had just signed up for. A membership fee, maybe? Couldn't be that bad.

 

Fuzzily, at the back of his mind, there was a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sammy, yammering on about how this was _a bad idea_. It was the equivalent of going grocery shopping when you were stoned off your gourd or late night binge ordering on Amazon or the Home Shopping Network. (Maybe he _did_ need a knife that could cut a penny!)

 

Only on a much larger scale.

 

Unperturbed, Dean forged on ahead, after all, there was a reason alcohol was so great when you didn't want to feel your feelings and right now he was feelin' nothin'.

 

Just the way he liked it. Best idea he'd had all day.

 

Hell, best idea he'd had in months. He'd been good and responsible like an alpha should be and tried to avoid drinking himself into a stupor ever since she left, mainly because of work and the slim possibility that Lisa might call and say that she'd been wrong and the whole thing had been a mistake, but after today and the way she couldn't even be bothered to pick up the damn phone, Dean decided it was time to give up the ghost.

 

He couldn't give two shakes of a rat's ass over this whole Lisa-leaving-him bullshit.

 

_Wait. Was that right? Did rats shake their ass or was it somethin' else?_

 

Whatever.

 

Dean was fine.

 

With one mighty gulp he swallowed the rest of the whiskey, drunkenly sticking his tongue in the mouth of the bottle to swipe up the last few errant drops and barely felt the burn as it went down.

 

He actually felt great right now. Best he'd felt in a coupla months. He didn't even care anymore. And what was even better? He didn't _care_ that he didn't **care**! He couldn't control the actions of anyone else, why was he even trying?

 

Feeling rather uncoordinated, Dean managed to set the laptop down on the floor by the couch, miraculously without breaking it, not bothering to power it down to sleep mode and sprawled out on the couch, falling quickly into the dreamless slumber that the whiskey so generously provided.

 

Hours later he awoke to sunlight streaming in through the windows, hungover and miserable, bleary and starving for some greasy goodness. Memories of last night were hazy at best, mostly swallowed up by the black abyss that excessive drinking afforded. The laptop battery had died and the screen was dark so he plugged it in to the wall charger and moved it to the coffee table so he wouldn't trip over it before he stumbled into the bathroom to shower the funk off himself.

 

Twenty-five minutes later, he was at least cleaner, if not more clearheaded; the Force was strong with this hangover. Thank god he didn't work today, though he could barely keep track of whatever day this was. Saturday, he thought possibly.

 

Sluggishly trudging into the kitchen, he fixed himself some eggs, sunny side up, toast and the last of the bacon. Damn, the good coffee was all gone too, the shitty instant swill would have to suffice for now. Dean was definitely gonna have to go shopping soon, there was barely anything edible left in the fridge, with a few items having succumbed to Darwinism, as Sam would say. He hardly left the house anymore except for work and that was beginning to grate on him, too.

 

Going anywhere in public nowadays was a trial Dean tried to avoid at all costs, sick of the pitying looks or people just downright avoiding him completely, sad alpha stench too potent to handle. The only upside was that Dean seemed to be losing his own sense of smell lately, could barely scent out the designation of others through the overpowering pheromones he couldn't seem to stop producing. Though he could hardly even smell that lately, or maybe he was just so steeped in it that it didn't register anymore; either way, he should probably take Sam's advice and go see a doctor, there was a high probability that he would become null, without scent and unable to scent or go into rut, if things continued on the way they were.

 

Dean wouldn't miss his rut, or his ability to scent others much, at least that was how he felt at this stage, too depressed to care about anything outside his own little personal bubble of heartache.

 

Taking his plate of breakfast into the living-room, along with a glass of orange juice that was _just_ this side of a little too fermented, giving it a whiskey-like kick, he flopped onto the couch and flipped on the television and proceeded to mindlessly watch a marathon of Doctor Sexy while polishing off his delicious greasiness. The food helped marginally, he still felt unpleasantly shit-faced and was considering sleeping the rest of the day away when his phone chimed with an email alert.

 

Sighing heavily and expecting another sappy email from Sam, he bypassed his phone and dragged the laptop onto his stomach, powering it on before refreshing his email.

 

There was indeed an email from Sam, which he ignored for the moment, perusing through the spam for “Jackhammer XL – Unleash YOUR Inner Alpha and Fix Your Broken Manhood!!,” which Dean snorted at harshly, deleting that and a handful of credit card offers, 'Hot Singles in Your Area!', and other miscellaneous junk viciously before his eyes caught on a “Service Requested” receipt, followed by a shipping notification. Dean clicked on it curiously.

 

Shit. What had he bought last night for...fucking five thousand dollars?! _Oh, son of a bitch!_ Thank god he had relatively good credit and a high limit, even though right now was a very bad time to be racking up credit card bills.

 

His jaw dropped when he read the words, “Your Russian Mail-Order Bride will arrive in 3-5 business days!”

 

There was no way it was a real person, it had to be a scam or an extremely expensive blow-up doll, right?! There were those life-size RealDolls that came in every flavor and color of the rainbow, which people paid thousands of dollars for. That had to be what this was.

 

He read further, and clicked on the first link he found for canceling his order, but when he did so, the company informed him that his order had already shipped and was on its way to him. He clicked on the chat link for customer service, which brought up a text box and the representative encouraged him to wait until he received his order before deciding to return it just yet. They assured him that if he was displeased in any way by their product, that returns were quick, free and easy, but they also guaranteed he'd love their product. Dean rolled his eyes at this, irritated at their smug confidence.

 

Annoyed, not only with the company, but also with Past Dean's drunk shenanigans, he finally conceded and shoved his laptop aside in disgust. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly and wondered how the fuck this whole shitshow was his life.

Heaving a sigh, he pushed the whole incident to the back of his mind; he'd deal with it later when the damn thing showed up.

 

Fed up with wallowing, he got up, antsy for something to do, even though he still felt a lingering sense of shittiness from his bad choices last night. He went into the kitchen and proceeded to clean up from the last week, putting away the few clean dishes and loading the mountain of dirty ones into the dishwasher. He wiped out the fridge and threw out most of what he found in there, peeved with himself for letting things get this messy. Normally, he kept a neat house and Lisa had often teased him about being a germaphobe and neat freak, even playfully calling him her “house alpha.” Dean didn't mind, to him, being an alpha was no excuse to be a slob, like many of his designation often were. But this funk he was in had really thrown him for a loop, making it hard to care about anything, let alone house work.

After the kitchen was tidied up to his satisfaction, he moved on to the rest of the house, vacuuming, dusting, mopping and doing several loads of laundry. The manual labor was good for him, kept his mind off of things. When he finished with the household chores, he decided that while he was on such a roll, he may as well go grocery shopping. It was early evening by now, and hopefully the supermarket wouldn't be too crowded and he could get in and get out, no muss, no fuss.

 

He pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, fresh and warm from the dryer and headed out. The supermarket he liked was only fifteen minutes away on the freeway and as he'd hoped, it was quiet and mellow, allowing him to get his shopping done quickly. He stocked up on food, toiletries and other essentials and resolutely ignored the hard liquor aisle, only buying a couple six-packs of beer instead.

 

Dean arrived back to his empty but clean house, and immediately turned on the stereo, blasting Led Zeppelin because he couldn't take the hollow, dead stillness of the place. As he put everything away, he reflected on how strange it was to go back to shopping for one now; he'd been so used to buying in bulk, and monthly trips to Costco.

 

Of course, there was no point in that anymore, it was only him, and he didn't need much..

 

He popped a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner and was proud of himself for only drinking two beers with it as he binge-watched some stupid show on Netflix.

 

Sunday morning he woke up hangover free, thankfully, and forced himself to get up and be productive, which meant he spent most of the day outside, mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges, which had become somewhat overgrown. He changed the oil in his treasured 67' Chevy Impala, a last relic of his parents and gave her a good going over, switching out the spark plugs and washing her up until she looked brand new, complete with a thick coat of wax to apologize to his Baby for neglecting her. He tried not to think about the fact that the last time he'd done many of these activities, he'd had Ben by his side, begging to help and asking a million questions. God, what he wouldn't give to have all that back.

 

He ended the day much the same as he had the day before, alone in front of the t.v., eating cold pizza because it was too depressing to cook just for himself.

 

Monday dawned bright and early and Dean reluctantly drug himself into work. Being a customer service rep at Roman Auto Parts and Repairs was a soulless job indeed, mindlessly manning the counter and answering inane questions all day. He much preferred to be elbow deep in the guts of a car, or restoring timeless classics to their former glory. But even though he'd requested a transfer several times, his boss, “Call me Dick” Roman, had refused, stating that he needed Dean exactly where he was.

 

Times were tough, the economy sucked and Dean couldn't in good conscience ditch the job just because he hated it and would rather be doing something else. Work was work and a pay check wasn't to be sniffed at even though it was only minimum wage. With only a single income now, Dean was going to have to tighten his belt and live simply for the time being.

 

When he was younger, he'd dreamed of opening up his own car repair and and restoration business with some of the money from his parent's life insurance policy money, but as many dreams did, this one fell by the wayside. The circumstances and timing never being quite right. Most of the money was still untouched in a savings account that Dean had privately referred to as Ben's college fund, but that too, was just another dream snuffed out. And now, the idea of opening up his own business all by himself felt hollow and empty with no one to share it with.

 

The week passed slowly, the hours dragging by. Getting off work and going home was no picnic either, just more of the same blue funk that was gradually squeezing the life out of him. Dean dutifully spoke to Sam when he called Wednesday night, trying to sound upbeat so Sam wouldn't worry about him. He even sucked it up and attempted to sound interested when Sam started gushing about Jess, but after ten minutes, he couldn't take it any longer, quickly making up an excuse to get off the phone. He loved his brother and was happy for him, but he just couldn't stomach listening to someone all mushy-in-love.

 

By Friday, the combination of heart-sickness and frustration with his job left him wanting to slit his wrists. The alternative was calling up some of his friends whom he hadn't seen in awhile and going out to get shitfaced. Maybe not the most healthy of plans, but there were worse things he could be doing. He managed to cut out of work an hour early since he'd had to open the store this morning and rewarded himself with a cold beer when he got home.

 

Two hours and one group message later, Dean found himself out at the Roadhouse with Benny, his mate Andrea, Charlie, and Ash. The beer was frosty, the shots were plentiful and Ellen gave him a rib-cracking hug, scolding him for staying away too long. The rest of his friends shared the same sentiments, and Dean felt bad that he'd let them down. To make up for it, he did his best to put on a bright smile and act like his old self, though sometimes it felt like pretending to be a different person that he barely remembered ever being. He thought he did a fair job, cracking lewd jokes, singing karaoke and playing a few games of pool. A few betas and omegas looked his way appreciatively, and both Benny and Charlie urged him to go for it, but Dean just didn't have the heart for a meaningless, one-night-knotting, roll in the hay. He knocked back more shots instead, ignoring the worried glances Charlie and Benny traded, mindful that his mask was slipping, and didn't say no when Ash quirked an eyebrow at him and herded him outside, producing a half-smoked joint.

 

Four hits of sweet, slightly skunky weed and Dean could no longer feel his lips or fingertips, which was just fine by him. That mellow lightness that he always associated with weed stole effortlessly over him, making him feel lax and loopy, giggly even. It was much easier to play 'fake it til you make it' when you had a little help.

 

The night passed smoothly after that, and when it came time to say goodnight, Dean wasn't feeling too bad. Charlie had picked him up, having drawn the short straw as designated driver for the night and she dropped him off with a hug and a kiss, sternly ordering him to call her soon to hang out again and exacted a promise from him for a future poker night and for his return to LARPing, there was a tourney the weekend after next and the Queen of Moondor needed her handmaiden!

 

Stumbling inside, Dean barely managed to shed his clothes and take a piss before he crashed into bed, facedown in the pillows, sinking into sleep with the abandonment of the heavily inebriated.

 

The doorbell rang twice the next morning before Dean jerked awake grumpily, hungover and feeling like shit, the reprieve of last night's drug and alcohol induced high long gone. He glared at the red digital numbers on the clock.

 

10:32 on a Saturday morning was too fucking early for anything right now.

 

The doorbell rang once more, followed by a knock this time and grudgingly, Dean crawled out of bed, swearing a blue streak the whole way. Whoever it was better have a fucking good excuse for bothering him right now. He was halfway out of the room before he realized he was naked as a jaybird, so with more grumbling, he turned back, dragging on his discarded boxers and t-shirt from last night.

 

It would've served them right, whoever was at the door, if he'd shown up butt-ass naked, that's what they got for waking him up. Unless it ended up being his neighbor, a sweet, elderly omega lady named Mildred, who periodically dropped by and asked for his help with household maintenance chores in exchange for cookies and lemonade since Dean wouldn't accept money from her for easy stuff like spraying WD40 on the creaky hinges around the place or mowing the lawn. Yeah, that probably wouldn't go over well, especially since Mildred already teased him for being her 'alpha eye candy.' She totally didn't need to get an eyeful of his junk, she'd never let him live it down!

 

Shuffling up to the door, Dean flung it open, the bright sunlight blinding him momentarily.

 

Dean's eyes finally adjusted, the morning sunshine only throwing gasoline on the roaring fire of his splitting headache.

 

Huh. Well, it sure as fuck wasn't Mildred.

 

The man standing on his front porch stared at him warily, blue eyes narrowed, head tilted to the side. A little shorter than Dean, he had messy, dark hair, and arrestingly pink, plump lips that were currently turned down in a frown.

 

Dean squinted back at him before finally asking, “Can I help you?” He took in the large black duffle bag slung over one shoulder and the rolling suitcase at the man's side and then said, “Are you lost?” He subtly tried to scent the air, but either the guy was wearing blockers or Dean's nose just wasn't working like it used to.

 

The man cleared his throat nervously. “You are...Dean Winchester?” He asked in heavily accented, broken English, his voice crushed velvet-rough and raspy.

 

The penny still hadn't dropped for Dean and he only nodded in bewilderment. “Yeah?”

 

The man fumbled around in the pocket of his navy blue peacoat, which along with the grey wool scarf around his neck, was much too warm for May in Kansas. He finally pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper and handed it to Dean.

 

Fingers brushing, Dean took it from him, unfolding it to reveal an invoice. His eyes widened in shock as he read the contents of the page, his jaw sagging open in disbelief as he glanced back up at the man, who was looking more and more anxious and uncomfortable as the seconds passed without a word from Dean.

 

Dean blinked, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Holy fucking shit. No way. There was just no way that this--

 

This couldn't be happening. But according to the piece of paper in his hand, this man, this _omega male_ , was his so-called Russian Mail-Order Bride.

 

Well, _fuck_. So much for it being a returnable blow-up doll.

 

This couldn't be fucking legal, right?! If the paperwork was to be believed, he'd inadvertently just bought a fucking human being. That was wrong on so many different levels.

 

Dean rubbed his hand over his face again, overwhelmed. It was too fucking early for this. What the hell was he supposed to do with this guy? Send him packing? He'd clearly traveled a long way, possibly all the way from Russia. Dean shook his head, trying to think through his shock and the mother of a headache that was pounding through his skull. Fuck it. They could figure it out later, after Dean had had some coffee and maybe a few more hours of sleep. Then he'd call that fucking insane company and find out about their return policy for a goddamned human being. Maybe he could help the guy get set up here, temporary citizenship or some shit.

 

Stepping back, he waved the guy in and was rewarded with a shy smile as Dean grabbed the guy's suitcase and ushered him inside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, so what did y'all think? Thoughts, comments, suggestions, etc. all welcome!  
> P.S. This fic was inspired by actual spam mail I received in my Junk Mail Folder, the only thing I added was the omega/beta thing, but this was an honest-to-God email I received! And i suddenly just had this vision of drunk, sad Dean stumbling across this link and accidentally ordering an omega who turned out to be Cas. And here we are! LOL


End file.
